Sydney Silchester has relocated from England to Los Angeles – “while my back was turned, Europe blew up” – and is making a career by decoding messages and solving puzzles. Anything he is stuck on, luckily he has a medium with a link to spirits who are also pretty good at codes too (yes, I’ll be getting back to that bit). But when Mr Intil storms into his office with a code to unpick, he has no idea of the chain of events that have started.

Actually, nor have I, as this book bored the pants off me, but it’s something to do with a treasure hunt, a few dead treasure hunters, coded messages and a nasty murder method. Luckily, he’s got Mr Mycroft, an old acquaintance from England, to help him out…

OK, let’s clarify one thing. Nelson Publishing, if you still exist, are you listening? Or Mysterious Press who made the same mistake when they reprinted this?

MR MYCROFT IS NOT MYCROFT HOLMES.

He’s only referred to as Mr Mycroft in the text and no mention is made of his background, but Mycroft was a government official who basically visited three places – his home, the Diogenes Club and his office. He liked luxury and was unfit. There’s even a description in the foreword that says this. So who is this old, slim, fit man with almost supernatural deductive powers who might have a name that would make the presumably still existing copyright holders explode (and who probably still are a bit twitchy about the use of “Mycroft”)? Yes, this is supposed to be an out-of-retirement SHERLOCK Holmes – apparently it’s more obvious in the first book, A Taste For Honey, but what is definitely obvious here is that it’s not bloody Mycroft Holmes! Here’s the original cover, which doesn’t mention Mycroft as Holmes at all (although the blurb refers to him as Mycroft rather than Mr Mycroft).

So, having got that off my chest (a bit) let’s take a look at this. To be honest, this lost me in chapter two when pseudo-Watson can’t decipher the message and takes it to his psychic friend who a) refuses to look at it, b) blindfolds herself and then c) has a couple of weird voices still decipher it. And even more weirdly, Mr Mycroft isn’t bothered about this bit when he turns up.

And then there’s a treasure hunt where we’re told lots of stuff, not allowed to work it out for ourselves, but bar one attempted murder and one actual murder of the only character I particularly liked, there wasn’t anything to grab my attention.

And the author doesn’t know how radioactive decay works either…

And the title’s rubbish…

So the second book in the Coffee and Crime Advent Calendar was less of a success that the first, Death On Tiptoe, but it at least gave me a chance to have a bit of a rant – it’s been a while… And also, to be fair, this must be one of the earliest attempts at the continuing/missing adventures of the Great Detective, so that was interesting at least.

The Twelve Books Of Christmas (in order so far…)

1. Death On Tiptoe
2. Reply Paid